(Untitled)

[willbewonderful]

The thing about splitting a small amount of tools between three construction teams is that they get dull in a hurry. Today and everyday, Duck thanks whatever's behind the island for providing some extra hammers and screwdrivers for general use, but tools like the radial arm saw? Duck's just glad it's made to withstand constant use, because it

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[camdenrefugee]

Marwood shuffled from one foot to the other, fingers tapping against the leg of his jeans as he resisted the urge to light one of his four remaining cigarettes. He hoped that this was indeed the place. He was nervous (well, more so than usual) at the prospect of requesting help from a complete stranger. Especially since he had no currency with which to pay, nor anything to barter. Even more especially considering the nature of his request.

A house! I'm honestly expecting some kind and generous soul to find and/or help me construct an entire house, without recompense, just so that I can get out of a perfectly serviceable room in the hippie commune? What if he says no? What if he takes me for some kind of freeloader, a wretched and deplorable ingrate?

The voice (and the sudden appearance of an eye at the crack in the door) did nothing to help his anxiety.

"Ah," said Marwood eloquently. "Um. Hello? Mr. MacDonald?"

[willbewonderful]

"Yeah?" The voice is eerily familiar, and the slivered glimpse of the man through the door tells Duck why.

Duck stands up, wiping his hands on his overalls and pushes the door all the way open. "Whatcha need?"

[camdenrefugee]

"Well..." Marwood's first thought was that Duck MacDonald looked disturbingly like Mamet. It was unsettling, but not all that troublesome; it probably would have bothered him a lot more if he hadn't already met William Bush. No, what bothered Marwood was the way the taller man seemed to fill the doorway, not quite menacingly, but not comfortingly, either.

That, and that he was holding the naked blade of a radial saw loosely in one hand.

Deep breath, Marwood, you can't be sure he's a serial killer, he thought furiously, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "Well, um, right. I-I'm sure that you're very busy, and I can come back later if you want, but I was told that you were the person to see about... building things?"

[willbewonderful]

"That's me, yeah," says Duck, and for a moment it's a struggle not to step back from that smile. It's not that it's scary, per se, but it's not quite right, either.

"You wanna come in?" he says anyway, gesturing to the bench inside.